


The Calm After The Storm

by ras_elased



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Merlin is curled into a ball, back propped against the battlements, mop of untidy black hair resting against his knees. He is shaking, though Arthur suspects that is due to the fact that he is soaked to the bone, because he is </em>sitting outside in the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calm After The Storm

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fandom: merlin](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fandom%3A%20merlin), [fic: the calm after the storm](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20the%20calm%20after%20the%20storm), [genre: angst](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20angst), [genre: post-ep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20post-ep), [genre: pre-slash](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20pre-slash), [pairing: merlin/arthur](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20merlin%2Farthur), [rating: pg](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20pg)  
  
  
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Title: The Calm After The Storm  
Author: Ras Elased  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: 1.13  
Warnings: angst! Unbeta'd  
Summary: _Merlin is curled into a ball, back propped against the battlements, mop of untidy black hair resting against his knees. He is shaking, though Arthur suspects that is due to the fact that he is soaked to the bone, because he is _sitting outside in the rain.  
A/N: 1.13 post-ep. This is my attempt to deal with some of the emotional fallout Merlin must have been facing after the season finale. Much thanks to [](http://hollyxu.livejournal.com/profile)[**ryu_falconis**](http://hollyxu.livejournal.com/), [](http://franticsga.livejournal.com/profile)[**franticsga**](http://franticsga.livejournal.com/), and [](http://lavvyan.livejournal.com/profile)[**lavvyan**](http://lavvyan.livejournal.com/), who served as my sounding board, and for everyone else on my flist who put up with my whining over this on my lj. Also, as a side note, I wrote the second part before I wrote the first, because I felt like Merlin's emotional state and what was going on in his head needed to be known to get the second part, because Arthur is as perceptive as a bag of rocks. So, hopefully this works.

  
~*~

Merlin holds it together until they make it back to Camelot. Gaius looks older than Merlin's ever seen him, haggard and worn. Merlin makes Gaius gets some rest, finds his mother sitting up in bed, hands curled around a hot cup of tea. Gwen is there, and she doesn't say anything about the way Merlin's hands shake in relief, a tiny tremor he can feel to the very foundation of his soul. Merlin feels as fragile as a robin's egg, like one stiff breeze could send him tumbling end over end and breaking apart, so he fists his hands in the sheets by his mother's side and holds on. When his mother finally drifts off, Gwen only offers him a light squeeze to his shoulder and the gentle admonishment to get some air. It feels an awful lot like permission to breathe.

He climbs up the spiraling stair, each step quicker than the last, as if he can simply outrun the last few days. It feels like the stone is crumbling beneath his feet, like he has to keep moving before the cracks in the world catch up with him. The weight of his own actions pulls him down, the Dragon's words claw at his heels. Is he really one of them? Does his magic spring from that same, dark source? Is he even _human?_

He bursts onto the ramparts and all of the air explodes from his lungs. He collapses to all fours on the cold, wet flagstones, the rain beating against his back through his thin shirt as he forces himself to breathe. Nothing feels real, not the air in his lungs or the thoughts in his head. It was all a lie. His Destiny, his Calling, it was all just some big plot cooked up by a great bloody lizard with too much time on its hands and one hell of a chip on its shoulder. Merlin feels like Fate is off somewhere laughing at him for being so easily taken for a fool.

Merlin's clothes are clinging to his body, and he curls onto his side, gasping through the sudden onslaught of tears. He starts shaking, but it's not entirely due to the cold rain pelting him like small, icy stones. He's afraid that if he doesn't find a way to ground himself, he'll slip right off the face of the earth. Merlin lays one hand flat against the hard stone, closes his eyes, and thinks of Arthur.

It couldn't have all been a lie, could it? It had felt so right. Merlin had been so sure, every time he stood by Arthur. It's where he belongs. It's where he _wants_ to be. And that, right there, is the problem.

Merlin is terrified. He doesn't remember being this frightened of the Gryphon, or the Black Knight, or the Questing Beast. Merlin is the most fearful he's ever felt in his life, and what he fears is that the Dragon is right.

Both the Dragon and Nimueh called Merlin a "_creature_ of the Old Magic." The Dragon had called Merlin his kin. If Merlin has been borne of that same dark power, how long can he fight it before he becomes just like them? What if Merlin's place really is to be by Arthur's side, but it's not how he imagined it? If Merlin really is the other side of Arthur's coin, then Arthur is obviously the good side. Merlin is terrified of what that makes himself.

Merlin chokes back another wave of sobs and struggles to stand on shaking limbs, leaning on unsteady arms against the battlements. He has finally gotten his breathing under a modicum of control, but he can taste rainwater and salty tears on his lips. Rain plasters his hair to his head and rivulets trace icy fingers down the back of his neck. He leans a little farther over the parapet. It is a long way down, but Merlin doesn't recoil.

In all of this, there is still one thing that Merlin knows with absolute certainty. He will protect Arthur in any way he can, with everything he has. He will gladly give his life for Arthur's. This is something Merlin knows to the marrow of his bones.

Merlin's Destiny isn't certain, but he knows more now about the possibilities. He knows what he felt when he killed Nimueh, all that raw power channeled through his body, bent to his will. The power of nature at his fingertips, of life and death and everything between. For a moment, he had felt invincible. He had felt _righteous_.

Merlin stares down to the bottom of the battlements, watching the raindrops whiz past his head and continue their long journey down to the ground beneath him. The rain had followed Merlin to Camelot. He had tried to stop it, but he couldn't. He's unleashed the power of the heavens, but he can't control it.

He cannot allow himself to become like Nimueh, like the Dragon. He _cannot_, not knowing that it would be a betrayal of Arthur. If it comes to that, Merlin knows what he will do.

Merlin knows there's no guarantee he will become what he fears, but he stands there for a long time, teetering on the brink, hands gripping slippery wet stone, wondering if he's willing to take that risk.

~*~

Merlin is at the top of the ramparts when Arthur finds him. It's the first place he's looked, before even Gaius' quarters, and he thinks that should mean something, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't really even know why he sought Merlin out, only that their last conversation left a bad taste in his mouth and a restless, cold feeling in his gut that hasn't left him all day. Arthur hates feeling restless.

Merlin is curled into a ball, back propped against the battlements, mop of untidy black hair resting against his knees. He is shaking, though Arthur suspects that is due to the fact that he is soaked to the bone because he is _sitting outside in the rain._ Sometimes Arthur wonders if Merlin really does have a mental affliction.

"If I'm a prat, then you're an idiot," he calls by way of greeting. He grabs Merlin by the shoulder, making to haul him off to dry by the fire in the hopes he won't catch his death, but then Merlin looks up at him and Arthur wonders if he's already too late. Merlin looks appallingly ill. His eyes are red-rimmed and wild, his face pallid and drawn. Arthur stifles a gasp. He has no idea what could make Merlin look so lost, so…unlike himself. It's unsettling.

"Merlin…" Arthur kneels in front of his servant, his hand still resting on Merlin's shoulder. He wants to ask what happened, but the right words get tangled up somewhere in his head, so when Arthur speaks he seems capable of mastering only the pointlessly obvious, and says, "It's raining."

Merlin looks up at the sky and smiles, but there is no joy in it. "So it is." Merlin's voice is serene, but there is a quality to it that gives Arthur the image of a skittish colt, so he sits and waits, expecting Merlin to continue on his own. At length, Merlin's gaze drops back down to fix on Arthur, jarring in its intensity. Merlin's eyes are shining, either from barely restrained tears or an edge of something like madness. He swallows thickly, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet and his words are stilted. "Arthur, what if you woke up one morning, and someone told you that you were not really destined to be the future king of Albion? That it was all a lie. What would you do?"

It is such an odd change from Merlin's usual confidence, so sure of everything that he gives even the crowned prince advice on how to rule. Merlin is looking at him like the fate of the world rests upon his answer, and Arthur is uncomfortable with the weight. He tries to deflect the question like he would a glancing blow. "It doesn't matter. I _am_ the future king."

But Merlin, being Merlin, is not so easily deflected. He licks rainwater from his lips and tries again. "No, I mean…What if you thought you were meant for something…something _important_, but you found out you weren't really meant for that at all. That you might be…that you might be meant for something…very different."

The words take Arthur back to their conversation last night, to the same sinking sensation he'd felt at the thought of Merlin trying to leave. He clenches his jaw and says, "Is this more nonsense about you trying to quit your job?"

"NO!" Merlin snaps, clearly frustrated. He looks away from Arthur, glaring into the middle distance and clenching his hands into fists as if he is desperately trying to cling to something that is slipping through his fingers. "Nevermind, just…just forget it," he tells the rain.

More than anything else, the defeated tone of his voice prompts Arthur to answer. Right or wrong, Merlin has asked, and Arthur has never been able to deny Merlin anything, at least not when it really matters. "I think," he starts, giving Merlin the first answer that comes to his head, "that if someone told me I didn't have to be king, then I would decide to be king anyway."

Merlin snorts and rolls his eyes, but for once Arthur doesn't care. He never thought he'd prefer Merlin's insubordination, but it's a marked improvement from a moment ago. "You're really not getting it," Merlin states dryly.

Arthur glares, more out of kneejerk reaction to Merlin's tone than anything else. "No, Merlin, _you're_ not getting it. You asked for my answer, and I gave it. I am royalty by birth, but it doesn't define who I am. I am a prince because I choose to be, every day." This, at least, prompts Merlin to look at him once again, and the expression on his face compels Arthur to continue. "The type of prince, the type of king, the type of _man_ I am is mine to choose, and mine alone. What kind of king would I be if I let circumstances dictate who I am? It should be the other way around, if you ask me," he finishes with a shrug.

They stay like that for long moments, Merlin staring hard at Arthur, as if working out some indecipherable mystery behind his eyes. Slowly, a small smile blooms across his face. That strange certainty is back in his voice as he says, "You will be a great king, Arthur."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, but can't hide his own answering smile. "Yes, you've said that once before. It would mean more if it wasn't being said by my idiot manservant who doesn't have enough sense to come in from the rain."

Merlin is still smiling at Arthur as he says, "The rain's stopped now, anyway."

Now it is Arthur's turn to glance upwards, surprised. The first few bright stars have already begun to shine through the thinning clouds. "So it has."

Merlin moves to stand, dislodging the hand Arthur had almost forgotten was still on Merlin's shoulder. "Still, you're right, we should go. My mother's probably worried sick about me by now." He offers a hand out to Arthur, and Arthur clasps his wrist.

Arthur can't help the eager timber of his voice as he allows Merlin to haul him to his feet. "Hunith's here?"

Merlin's grin falters. "Yes. She came to see Gaius. She was ill."

Suddenly, some of Merlin's black mood begins to make sense. "Is…is she alright?"

"Oh, yes, she's fine, now," Merlin says, his smile returning, but Arthur can tell it's not entirely genuine. "Everything's fine."

Arthur reaches out to grasp Merlin's shoulder just as his manservant turns to head for the staircase, and he gently turns him back around until they are once again eye to eye. "Merlin…"

Merlin sighs. "No, so maybe it's not…" He meets Arthur's eyes, and his face blossoms into a smile that is very nearly the kind Arthur is used to seeing across the banquet hall or training field, bright and beaming is a way that somehow seems reserved only for Arthur's eyes. "But it will be," he says, moving towards the stairs with a stride that leaves Arthur little choice but to follow, grudgingly, because once again Merlin has forgotten his place.

Arthur is still no closer to fully understanding what was troubling his manservant, but he trusts Merlin, and believes Merlin will tell him when he's ready. In the meantime, Arthur thinks he may be learning to listen.

_   
**The Calm After The Storm**   
_


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